addicting you
by omens
Summary: Habits. Insecurities. 'The Talk' Craig and Ellie.


**Name: **Chris

**Title: **Addicting You

**Rating: **T

**Genre: **Romance I guess.

**Summary: **Habits. Insecurities. 'The Talk.' Craig and Ellie.

_**A/N: For Eva, who suggested I use my excess energy to write an Eman fic with, I quote, 'S-E-X.' Here's hoping she doesn't mind I went an alternate route. : )**_

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"Craig," I say and I hate how my voice sounds, how breathy and weak and … girly.

"Hmm?" he murmurs against my neck and I shiver in response to the tingles it sends down my spine.

I love Craig but I hate the way he makes me feel. It used to be all about hiding the hurt and hoping in my eyes when he would look at me, and being terrified he would finally clue into how the sarcasm and double-talk was merely a cover up that didn't really cover anything. Now it's transformed into my acting all tough and aloof when in reality the only thing I want to do is bury myself in him and never come up for air.

"Craig," I repeat, using all my energy to try and force some of the willpower I so wish I had into my voice. I used to have some. Way back when I only had an imagined idea of how Craig's hands would feel on the skin under my clothes, how soft his lips would be against my collarbone, how soft his voice would be when he was lost in this place that we're sinking into now.

Finally, he raises his head to look me in the eyes, his ministrations halted and the beginnings of the hickey I can feel forming on my neck unfinished. He's flushed and breathing a bit roughly and I feel my resolution to be strong weaken at the knowledge that I, Ellie Nash, did this to Craig Manning. I made him look like that, breath that way, and it's intoxicating.

It's addicting and I want to be hooked on it.

Addictions are dangerous. Especially for people like Craig and I. We're prone to obsessing and we latch onto things we can lose ourselves in and this could so easily become one more.

"What?" he asks tenderly, brushing back a tendril that has gotten stuck to my clammy cheek during our exertions. Little things like that are what make me realize just how much trouble I'm in here.

"We shouldn't," I tell him and the way his face falls make my heart ache in my chest the same way it did when I was seventeen. When I would sit in group or Craig's garage and he would pour his heart out as much as his stupid male pride would allow and the pain he hid behind that too cool swagger of his would rise to the surface, I always felt this tightening inside of me that I couldn't explain but knew had to do with the boy sitting across from me. That same constricting was present the first time the notion to press the sharp metal against my skin and watch the crimson pop against the pale surface came into my mind.

His brow crinkles in confusion as I attempt to raise up off his couch, forcing him to sit back on his haunches in front of me. "Why?"

The flush I know that's on my face is no longer attributed to the amorous feelings for the lanky boy I'm with but the secret of sorts I have to confess.

Craig tilts my chin up when I refuse to meet his eyes. The forced meeting of brown and hazel is more than I can handle at the moment. I launch myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and burying my face against the crook of his shoulder.

His fingers are in my hair when he whispers, "What is it, El?" against my ear.

I shake my head in response and he makes a noise halfway between a chuckle and a sigh.

"Ellie, you know you can tell m anything. Don't you?"

How did we get here? To this place, this hotel room, here, in New York where Craig asked me to met him for the weekend during a mini break of his tour. This place where all the pain and bitterness of the past suddenly doesn't seem as important as the fact that he asked me to come here and even bought me a first class ticket by way of convincing. This place where I'm afraid he's going to laugh when I tell him and it will be the thing that breaks the shaky foundation we're still building.

"Ellie?" Craig's voice is higher now. Worried. Afraid. So many people have left him and that's one more thing he's become dependant on; the need to cram as much as he can in because he never knows when the person he's with is going to disappear from his life. As if I could ever survive without him now that I know what it's like to actually have him.

"Why is this so hard to say?" I ask, more to myself than to him.

Relief is evident in his voice and his eyes when he responds. "What?"

"I'm not sure I can do this."

I love the way his forehead crinkles up and the little wrinkle appears between his eyebrows when he gets all serious like this. I love that I know that happens. But I hate the uncertainty behind it and the fact that I caused it.

"This meaning us, or this meaning …" Craig's voice trails off, his hands waving awkwardly to illustrate his point.

"This," I tell him, "meaning this." I gesture with my own hands, indicating the bed we're on and the obvious expectations we both had for this weekend.

"Oh. Oh!" He's surprised but he gets it without my having to actually saying the words. Something I'm infinitely grateful for since I'm fairly certain the embarrassment would kill me and I feel like I'm back in high school when all I could feel most days were the doubts that came with the boys I fell for and the agony that came with them.

High school is a place where people get obsessed and caught up in things they shouldn't and attached to the worst possible thing for them. Things like girls that are too eager for attention and girls who need too much and boys that never stick around. Things that lead to pain and tears and heartbreak, clinics and glances back through a dirty car window. Things that can ruin your life if you let them.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asks and I've never heard his voice so tender.

"I don't know," I hear myself say, "I was … embarrassed."

"You never have to be embarrassed around me. About anything."

"You sure this isn't a habit with you? Like some sort of high?"

Craig softens, raw and exposed and I wonder how many groupies wanted to see this side of him and if he's ever considered letting them. If this was how he looked when gave Ash a ring or begged Manny to keep the baby.

"I've had enough highs to last me a lifetime thanks," he quips. My eyes follow his to the pin sized scars dotting the inside of his forearms so like the faded ones that run along my own. We're so alike I think and suddenly the little insecurities don't seem to matter so much.

I kiss him, slowly so he can decide how he wants this to go. He presses back against my lips sweetly before pulling back.

"Are you sure?"

With his forehead leaning against mine and my fingers skimming his cheeks I know that nothing will ever be as addictive, as vital, to me as the boy tangled around me but it's enough. We all have our weaknesses and Craig is mine.

"Yeah," I kiss him again and feel a tremble, but from which of us I don't know, "I'm sure."

The grin on my face as we fall back against the sheets is beyond my control. Because he's here and I'm here and it's brief but it's real and for once it's enough.

"I think I could get hooked on this," he jokes and tugs my shirt over my head.

Pulling his face back to mine, I kiss him once more before I whisper, "Go ahead, cause I plan to get hooked on this myself."

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_**A/N: This is what happens when I get all hyper and bored. :p**_


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